


A Forest

by etcetera_cat



Series: Grass is Greener [7]
Category: Valdemar series - Lackey
Genre: Adventure, Gen, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-05
Updated: 2010-06-05
Packaged: 2017-10-09 22:27:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/92267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/etcetera_cat/pseuds/etcetera_cat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Teva wakes up with her head wedged in a tree. Then her day gets worse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Forest

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jehanne1431](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jehanne1431/gifts).



> This was originally written in December 2009.

There comes a certain point in one's life when you wake up and decide that, really, there's no actual point in getting out of bed today, because the big wide world is just that mean and awful, and staying in bed means that you haven't got to meet people. People that make you want to kick them in the head repeatedly until they stop being annoying.

Everyone has those kinds of days, right?

I'm having one of those days right now.

In fact, what I'm having right now is approximately seventeen and three quarters of those days all compacted down into the space usually reserved for one (singular) day. And there is nothing that I would enjoy more than refusing point-blank to get out of bed, except for two things. One: large horse-shaped creatures do not have beds, they have stalls, or stables, or corners of a Waystation, and, two: I have my head stuck in a tree.

If it wouldn't mean inhaling about eleven pounds of splinters, I would be sighing hard enough to inflate the country's largest set of bellows. As it is, I'm just kind of, well, dangling.

Out of the side of a tree.

I've tried pulling myself out; I've tried pushing myself further in. I've tried sliding down to the ground and I've tried climbing up the side. I've tried every curse word that both I and Alex have ever heard, and I've tried shouting until my head is ringing.

The most recent thing I've tried is some truly belligerent kicking, which is why I now have my head _and_ my right front leg stuck in a tree.

I hate all the parts of my life that have made this possible, but particularly those parts that have to do with being shunted from the (weird and freaky) Pelagirs Circuits to the (freaky and weird) Sorrows Circuits, and definitely those bits of it that contain the Heraldic Circle, who seem to have an almost fetish for shunting me into the vicinity of beggaring awful forests full of big hairy things with teeth.

And also, bandits.

_Magical_ bandits.

Don't make me explain about the magical bandits.

The thing about not having interns is that, a lot of the time, Alex and I end up running courier duties. Which is what we were doing on this trip out; carrying dispatches from Haven up to the guard posts that are strung along the northern border, minding our own business and trying not to get eaten by hairy things with teeth or ghosts or hairy things with teeth that are also ghosts (this near Sorrows, it could happen).

Unfortunately, other people seem determined to insert their business into our path, and _this_ time, that took the shape of the actual Circuit Herald and her intern, who were five days out of Waymeet, on the trail of a new group of bandits that had been wreaking havoc on the small villages and isolated farmsteads that make up most of the habited area in northern Valdemar.

Alex, of course, decided that we should help out, especially since we were all heading in the same direction, so we ended up camped out with them in the middle of nowhere last night. I tried to warn Alex that camping out amongst the trees was a Bad Idea, what with the hauntings and the big hairy things with teeth and the possible bandits and the _trees_, but, as per usual, he ascribed my words to melodramatic hysteria and ignored me.

When I catch up with him, I am going to spend _at least_ a week saying 'I _told_ you so.'

Because, aha, yes: As well as being stuck in a tree, I am also minus one Herald. _Technically, _I'm minus two Heralds, two Companions and one intern, and this is all because—at half past stupid o'clock this morning—our camp site was overrun by the aforementioned magical bandits.

Magical bandits with pet change-wolves and portable lightning sticks, who succeeded in beating about seventeen different kinds of snot out of all of us, the upshot of which was me waking up about two candlemarks ago to find myself incorporated into a tree and feeling very much like I've been trampled by the entire Companion herd.

Whilst the bit of him that's lodged firmly in my head is assuring me that Alex isn't dead, that's about all it _is_ doing (and I'm making no promises on what state he'll be in after I'm through with him), because, did I mention? Magical bandits with _shielding_ spells above and most definitely beyond what anyone should be swanning around with inside the Valdemaran border.

I hate my life.

I hate this tree.

I _really _hate—

Something is walking towards me, footsteps audible even though I've got every insect in a three mile radius taking up lodgings in my ear canals.

"Hello?" Young, male, worried-sounding and not Alex. "Hello? Are you alright—can you hear me?" Which means the intern: some name beginning with 'L', couldn't be bothered to remember it last night.

I snort loudly, then remember what a stunning idea _that_ isn't and promptly launch into an extended coughing fit when the eleven pounds of splinters, plus what must be at least seven spiders, lodge themselves up my nose.

"Hang on! Hang on!"

Something impacts against my shoulder, close into the trunk of the tree that's holding me captive and I automatically brace myself whilst heroically trying to throttle down my coughs. Hands skim over my neck and offside leg, pausing every so often to remove splinters and recalcitrant bits of wood. I have absolutely no clue how Mister L thinks removing me from the tree one splinter at a time is cost effective, and I am about to tell him so in no uncertain terms, when his hands drop away from my neck and I hear him take a deep breath.

"Okay, I think I can get you out, if you stay still?" The rising inflection on the end of his sentence does not fill me with confidence.

I don't have much chance to worry about this before there's a harsh _crack_ and half the tree trunk suddenly _isn't there_. I'm so startled by this that I utterly forget to compensate for the fact that the tree was supporting a fair bit of my weight and topple gracelessly sideways to land sprawled on the leaf litter strewn floor of the forest, with an expression I imagine is remarkably similar to that of a terminally concussed duck.

Sliding equally gracelessly down the side of the half of the tree that's still standing is the intern. He looks about as good as I'm currently feeling, and the bits of him that aren't covered in blood are covered in mud. The bits that aren't covered in mud _or_ blood, are covered in an unholy admixture of both, except for where he's tried to wipe his face clean; an action that has only made it possible to see his red-rimmed eyes and the bags under them that you'd need an entire pack train of mules to cart away.

It looks like this rescue is going to be undertaken by limp and limper, then.

We stare blankly at each other for a long moment, before something itches suddenly in my nose and I snort out a tremendous sneeze. I bolt to my feet as soon as I see the _size_ of the spider that has just exited my nostrils at high speed and flail around violently until I'm certain that I've shaken every single gods-be-damned creepy-crawly _off_.

Intern watches my performance with an expression of shock-numbed bemusement, and I squint at him once I've finished. What does he think he's staring at?

"I, um, thought you were Kirin," he says in a faintly hopeless tone. "We don't Speak well—um, I don't have the Gift—and well I couldn't see anything except that you were female at first and, um…"

I'm not exactly sure where to start with this: firstly, the mistaken identity, which—okay, I'll be charitable and say that he's in shock. Secondly, of course, the fact that if we _really_ put ourselves out (and maybe somewhat more easily if you're like me and managed to sneak some parts of your previous-life Gift ability along with you), Companions can Mindspeak _anyone_, but, well—it's Not Done if your Chosen doesn't have receptive Mindspeech—so I could probably make myself understood, _however_—

There is a thirdly, and that thirdly is the fact that Intern is currently all but beating me around the head with every single fragmentary thought running through his little head. Every. Single. One.

Traumatic triggering of a potential Gift is _not_ what I need to be dealing with at the moment, it really isn't.

_:I'm not Kirin,_: I say bluntly. _:And you appear to have developed the Gift. Congratulations. Now stop shoving the entirety of your head up my nose, there's been more than enough in the way of diabolical things up there today.:_

Intern gapes at me as I scowl back at him, but shields do abruptly snap into place around his mind. I sigh with relief. At least _somebody_ taught him grounding and centering correctly when they trained his other Gifts. Speaking of which—

_:How did you get me out of that?_: I jerk my nose at the half-tree.

"Um—my Gift is Fetching," Intern says hesitantly. "I used it to push some of the tree away."

_:Away to where?_:

Intern gestures wordlessly and I suddenly notice the perfect semi-circle of pulped wood that arcs gracefully around us. My legs feel a bit wobbly, and I vainly strive to Not Think about how close my head was to all that.

_:Oh, right. Very nice. What was your name?_:

"Um, we were introduced last night."

_:Clearly I wasn't paying any attention. What's your name?_:

"Uh, Larrin."

_:Well, 'uh, Larrin,' it looks like we get to play at big damn heroes.:_ I give him an unimpressed look. _:You could at least stand up straight.:_

"Sorry." Larrin stiffens his back and gives me a wary look. Well, being obeyed is a novel experience. Alex would have argued with me for a solid quarter mark and _still_ not done as I said at the end of it.

_:Do you have any weapons? Any__ of your Gift useable in a way that won't make you fall on your face?_: My first question gets a head-shake, the second gets a nod.

"But I don't see what good it'll do except Fetching weapons away from the bandits. If we catch up with them." Larrin gives a helpless shrug. He's obviously in shock and off-balance due to the lack of a Companion, but we don't have the _time_ to be wilting flowers, special snowflakes, or anything else ridiculous.

_:When,_: I say firmly. _:Not if. And whilst Fetching sharp things away from the bandits is part of what I want you to do, I'm also expecting a lot of _throwing_.:_

Larrin's expression clears. "Oh."

_:Indeed.:_ I shake myself from head to tail and jerk my nose in the direction of my back. _:Get on; we need to catch up with them before we make any more plans.:_

After only a slight hesitation, Larrin scrambles to mount. Having someone who isn't Alexander—or one of the members of our odd little family—on my back is deeply strange, but I try to ignore it.

_:The camp is…?_:

"That way." Larrin points off to our left and I pick my way through the remains of his exploded tree and follow the trail he made when finding me. Although Alex may mock my ability to get lost whilst standing in front of a road sign, I'm no slouch when it comes to tracking. I can track almost _anything_, I can. I probably won't know where I _am_ when I catch up with whatever, but I'll have damn well followed it there.

The remains of our camp, if anything, looks worse in daylight. About the only good thing that I can see is that there doesn't appear to be _fatal_ amounts of blood. There are bodies: two bandits and one hairy thing that's missing most of its teeth—and also the front of its head from where someone Companion-shaped kicked it. The trail that the bandits have left, leading off to the north-west, is obvious enough that even my drip of a brother could follow it.

_:Hmm.:_ I sniff at the air cautiously. There's nothing that _feels_ that magic in the air, but the last thing I want to do is trigger some guard-spell and let the bandits know that we're coming.

"What?" Larrin asks in a worried tone.

Of course, I can't mention the big-M to him (I got enough in the way of disapproving looks when Alex and I turned up from our last Circuit decked out in the gear the Hawkbrothers gave us) so I settle for another bit of information that would be useful. _:Is it morning or afternoon?_:

"Early afternoon, I think," Larrin says after a moment. "It's hard to see the sun to get it accurate."

_:Accuracy isn't an issue. If it's afternoon, then the chances are good that they've stopped for the day. They had to have been on the move the rest of the night after they attacked us; not even your average Karsite is dumb enough to sit in one place after attacking a Herald. And believe me when I say that I'm something of an authority on that.:_

"You've been to the Karsite border?" Larrin shifts his weight on my back as I fix my eyes on the bandits' trail and break into a steady lope.

_:A few times, when we were younger. Alex and I have been all over Valdemar, really. We get shunted around a lot because we ride Solo or Courier most of the time.:_ Something occurs to me then, and I slow enough so that I can direct a backwards look at Larrin. _:How much distance do you have with your Fetching Gift, and can you target something on your own, or do you need someone with Sight to direct you?:_

"Um," Larrin gives me a puzzled look, but answers readily enough. "If it's much over a couple of miles, I definitely need to link with someone with Sight. Why?"

_:Hmm. No reason.:_ That might come in useful later, but I don't intend to get Larrin all het up about what I'm plotting, just in case it's not feasible. He gives me a look like he doesn't entirely believe me but, unlike my Chosen, doesn't then go on to pester me right into the ground until I tell him.

Silence surrounds us for a while, as I concentrate on following the (very poorly hidden) trail, trusting that Larrin is keeping an eye on our surroundings and will warn me of any impending bandits or big hairy things with teeth. After about a candle mark, I feel Larrin shifting around in a way that is not to do with matching my paces. Well, riding bareback is not exactly comfortable for either of us for prolonged periods. It could be worse: last time I was running around a forest with a Herald bareback was when Alex and I were running away from that delightful hairy thing with teeth that chased us into the Hawkbrother lands.

I could really use about a half-dozen of the Hawkbrother scouts about now. And their birds. The thought of six out-sized raptors crushing skulls and blinding bandits keeps me entertained until Larrin clears his throat and ask in a low voice:

"Kirin said yes—yesterday that you'd been into the Pelagirs and met some Hawkbrothers."

I start slightly and hastily check my shields, firming them up a bit. That's the problem with newly awakened Mindspeakers; they tend to wander around plucking things out of people's heads willy-nilly, often without even realising it. Still, I may as well continue the conversation for the moment.

_:Yes, we did. On our last Circuit out, in fact. We tripped over one of their clan homes and Alex nearly got himself turned into charcoal. I had to hoist his tail out the fire.: _I consider our surroundings. _:Which is something of a theme in our lives.:_

"Are they as strange as the songs say?" Larrin can't keep the eagerness out of his voice, and I'm forcibly reminded how _young_ he is. Ye gods.

_:That depends on your definition of strange,_: I temporise. The whole living-on-top-of-certain-magical-_doom_ thing is not conversation filler. _:They do have their bond-birds, and they live in places called Vales…they're like pleasure gardens filled with tree houses and…well.:_ I flash a quick mental picture of k'Shona Vale in Larrin's direction, leaving out the magic and all of the naked bits that I spent most of our time there accidentally stumbling upon.

"Wow," Larrin breathes.

_:Don't get any ideas,_: I warn him. _:Quite apart from the Pelagirs being a generally horrible place, Veran would absolutely chew both you and your Kirin to pieces _and_ pull my tail off for putting ideas into your head.:_

"I wasn't thinking—not seriously," Larrin says hastily. I give him a knowing look over my shoulder and he has the grace to flush.

Alex and I swanning back into Haven decked out in the best kit that hertasi could make had caused what was politely referred to as a 'stir' around the Palace-Collegia. I have it on very good authority that most of the younglings that saw us—assorted trainees and nobles alike—immediately began formulating plans to go on expeditions into the Pelagirs. Thankfully, Dean Sidri intervened before things got too out of hand and Alexander then had the pleasure of telling everyone all about the assorted joys of great big hairy things with teeth.

I did not need availing of to tell the younger Companions all about great big hairy things with teeth, as it's been something that I've been doing pretty much since arriving back from our second ever Circuit.

Any further conversation is cut short as the faintest hint of wood smoke drifts past my nose. I stop suddenly in a patch of shade and sidle my way into some obscuring greenery before taking stock of matters.

"What is it?"

_:I can smell something. Hush, you.:_

Carefully I concentrate on my physical senses. There's nothing immediately obvious to see, the wind is blowing mostly from straight ahead of us and it is definitely laced with the kind of smell you get when people who are either ineffective at—or disinclined to bother with—camping properly start a fire with leaf litter and green wood. The sounds around us are the normal, quiet sounds of woodlands; the wind in the trees, innumerable small scuttly things doing things that involve being small and scuttly, bird song and foraging sounds.

That done, I continue to ignore Larrin—who is shifting uncomfortably on my back—and oh-so-gently extend out my mental senses.

Magic. Straight ahead, no more than two miles, probably within one mile.

_:Their camp is ahead of us. I can smell the smoke from their fires.:_

Larrin experimentally sniffs at the air. "I can just smell the bushes," he says in an ashamed tone.

_:Companions have better noses,_: I inform him tartly. _:Now, however many shields you've got up, I want you to at least double them, and then some. I don't _think_ that this load of idiots will have thought to organise a proper sentry patrol, but there's no use in taking any chances, and we are about to indulge in some fairly extreme sneaking.:_

Larrin gulps, but the only response I get from him is the shifting of his weight as he nods his head. Again with the being obeyed: it's going to start going to my head if it carries on for much longer.

Once I'm sure that my own shields are in order—and believe me when I say that Companions in general are exceptional at sneaking around, and those of us that have had to deal with the Karsite border are past masters at not getting caught—I lengthen my neck and begin a slow eel through the undergrowth. Larrin crouches down, almost plastering himself along my back and neck. His breathing seems unnaturally loud in my right ear, and I can feel that he is trembling.

We get all the way to a stand of holly trees before the sounds from the camp are anything other than a mish-mash of noise, and take refuge beneath the overhanging branches of an elderly black pine before the mish-mash separates out into distinct voices and sounds.

Unfortunately, I do not speak whatever barbarian lingo the bandits are jabbering away in.

_:Do you understand them?_:

The weight on my back shifts incrementally as Larrin shakes his head.

Nothing can ever be _simple_.

Being careful not to stir the branches unnecessarily, I peer out from in between them, trying to work out where to go to next. The black pine we're under is to the west of the campsite the bandits have constructed, and we are on slightly higher ground than them, but not enough for us to see more than the glow of the camp fires, and the heads and upper bodies of the men walking around. Uphill from us is a respectable thicket of hazel and birch, the bark of the latter gleaming in a preposterously white fashion against the dull browns and greens of the hazel.

Hmm.

I reverse my way out of the cover of the pine and back up as far as I can and be sure that the tree is still obscuring us from the sight-lines of any perimeter guards. Thankfully, just as any cover the pine might give us becomes purely theoretical, the ground begins to slope away, and I find myself edging into a dry stream bed. The flood water that must intermittently cover it has certain done a good job of carving into the soft ground, so it provides more than enough cover to get us near enough to the thicket.

Once there, I squirm my way in between the branches and try to arrange myself in a position that both mild comfortable, and also not likely to give any kind of impression of the outline of a horse. Larrin slides down my side and pushes forwards so that his head is level with mine. By the only bit of luck that either of us has had since the attack, we have a near-uninterrupted view of the bandit camp.

The first things that I latch onto are the two patches of white-silver; the two Companions hobbled and chained to a tree on the east side of the camp, and the two Heralds tied back-to-back and unceremoniously dumped by the side of the rancid little structure that must be serving as the chief bandit's tent. Next to that is a shoddy little lean to, decorated with bits of bone and bundles of dirty feathers. Sitting in front of it is a twisted up looking old man, dressed as much in elaborate tattoos as he is in tattered furs, and _he_ is surrounded by five shaggy black shapes that are absolutely_ not_ dogs. And it's the combined greasiness of blood-magic that hanging over both the mage and his…pets… that I notice second and take a private moment to have the heebie-jeebies about.

Both of the figures in Whites are bloodstained and battered, but they're also both alive, as are the Companions.

_Alexander_. My heart contracts painfully in my chest and I suppress both the urge to wail and the urge to wade right on in there and start mashing heads with my hooves. I _also_ manage to swing my head enough to catch hold of a solid mouthful of Larrin's hair before he's done more than whimper his Companion's name and shift his weight ever-so-slightly forwards.

_:If you even _dare_ the bandits will not get a chance to kill you because I will do it myself.:_ I twitch, pulling at Larrin's hair. _:Do I make myself clear?_:

His gulp sounds deafeningly loud. "'s," he adds softly.

_:Good.:_ I let go of his hair and give him a not entirely unfriendly nudge in the shoulder with my nose. _:Now, we're going to do what scouts do best; assess the situation and—_:

I trail off into silence because I've just noticed the _third_ thing. Which is just how many of the bandits there are. More than attacked us—a _lot_ more. And all of them are armed to the teeth and look positively evil and are nowhere near the small group of all-at-least-bruised idiots I was secretly hoping for.

Memorising the layout of the camp primarily involves my eyes—the 'top' of the camp is marked by a low cliff, over which a fairly large river is making a waterfall, and the rest of it is spread unevenly along the side of the river—so my Mindvoice is perfectly free to run through a litany of every single curse that I've ever heard in several decades of being on Circuit. Several of them are in languages that I don't even know the exact _origin_ of, and a run of three that are Valdemaran make Larrin flinch and give me a sideways look that's about evenly placed between utter awe and breeches-fertilising horror.

_:…with a half pound of honey _and_ a rusty spoon,_: I conclude viciously. _:Get on.:_

Larrin obeys silently, either because he's unwilling to make any sounds to alert the bandits to our presence, or because he's worried that the probability of me biting something essential off is rapidly approaching one. He's barely settled on my back before I'm reversing out of the thicket and getting the _hell_ out of there as quickly as I can.

"Wuh—wait!" Larrin leans forwards and whispers frantically. "Where are you going? We have to—the nearest Guard Outpost is two days away!"

_:Hush!_:

I don't stop until we're at least three miles away from the bandit encampment, truly into the wild forest. As soon as I stop, Larrin slides off my back and spins around, showing some spine for about the first time this afternoon.

"What did you do that for?" he shouts. "We need to go back—"

_:And get ourselves chopped into little pieces while the others look helplessly on? I don't know _what_ you did in tactics classes, but it clearly had nothing to do with paying attention!_:

"I—"

_:Yes, you.:_ The advantage of Mindspeech is that it's very difficult to ignore someone who knows how to use it. _:What _you_ are going to do is pay attention to _me_, and you're going to do that because _I_ am the one with several decades worth of experience in hostile situations, got it?_:

Larrin nods fearfully and steps back, as if he fully expects me to start biting chunks out of him.

_:Good.__:_ I stamp my way forwards, examining the wild and twisted looking trees around us until I find the kind that we need. A sharp tug with my teeth makes a decent-sized sheet of bark peel off and I flourish it at Larrin. _:I have found the paperbark, you go and find some ink root.:_

"Um, yes." Larrin scrambles away. Hopefully he will have a better ability at flora identification than Alexander did at his age. My Chosen, for the record, once tried to ward off biting insects by covering himself with _fire leaf_ sap, under the mistaken impression that it was fellis oil. I mean, it _worked_ in the sense that he didn't get bitten, but that was mainly because none of the midges could get a fix on a target that was devil-dancing his way around the Waystation, screeching like a demented _chicken_.

I determinedly choke down on any emotions that I might be having and cast around for a relatively flat piece of ground to lay the bark on. I finally settle on the sloped side of a large boulder just as Larrin appears from behind an unfeasibly large oak tree. I'm surprised to see that, not only is he carrying a large section of gnarled ink root, the sticky black sap already beading around the broken off ends, but that he's also managed to find a stalk of willow and chew the end into a rudimentary brush-pen.

_:Come here,_: I order. _:You're going to use all this to sketch a layout of the bandit camp on one side, and note down everything that we know on the other. I will help.:_ I step up behind Larrin as he sits down, crowding in close so that I loom over his left shoulder. _:Let us begin.:_

It takes us the better part of a candlemark before the map and related intelligence it written down. By the end of it I have a crick in my neck that you could bend iron bars with and Larrin's hands and front are stained brown-black.

He sighs wearily and rubs at his face, adding black streaks to the multicoloured calamity that is currently pretending to be his face. "What do we do with this?"

_:You are going to send it to the Guard Outpost.:_

"But—" Larrin protests weakly. "I've never used my Gift for anything that far before. I need to link to a Farseer to go over a few miles!"

I back away from Larrin so that he can turn around to stare up at me, and give him a grim look. _:I am going to help you. Drop your shields.:_

Larrin shakes his head violently. "You said that the bandits had magic users, if I drop my shields they'll know we're here!"

_:Larrin,_: I say flatly. _:Firstly, believe me when I tell you that where we are currently standing means that not even a whole herd of Groveborns could pinpoint us; secondly, _I _am not a complete neophyte when it comes to shields, and, thirdly and most importantly: Do not argue with a Companion.:_

A gulp and a barely-there head nod are my only replies, but after a moment I feel Larrin's shields softening enough that I can fully link with him. The immediate doubled-vision and the strange sensation of being in two bodies at once are frankly disturbing and _wrong_ because the other person isn't Alex. I ruthlessly shake my head, making Larrin close his eyes and make a retching sound.

_:Pay attention. I am going to track to the Outpost and then _you_ are going to park that piece of bark in front of the biggest gathering of people we can find, understand?_:

_:Yes,_: Larrin says weakly. I'd be surprised if he even knows that he's just consciously used his new gift for the first time.

_:Good.:_ With that I pull him in tight to my awareness and fling the me-us _up_ and _out_ of my-our bodies, ignoring Larrin's stifled wail.

I am not a Farseer, I do not See like someone with that Gift would. I am, however, a Companion, and I can use _magic_. It's not as easy to do when you're surrounded by flesh, but it's possible to navigate by ley lines. They vibrate in sympathy to wherever they pass through and if you're good—like I am—and if you're not entirely in the normal world anymore—like I-we are—then casting around for the vibrations that say _order_ and _people_ and _discipline_ means that you can _find_ yourself an Outpost.

The world around the me-usis blurred and wavering, the only bright and solid thing the network of ley lines that I-we are flying above, relentlessly tracking the ripples that say _perfect squares _and _clockwork timing_.

_:What is this?_: The part of me-us that is Larrin sounds bewildered, scared. I-we ignore it in favour of increasing my-our speed. I-we don't have the _time_.

The Guard Outpost looms in front of me-us, perfect shapes within perfect shapes, all filled with the crackle-snap of life energy. I-we focus on the biggest concentration, flashing through walls and doors to reach my-our objective.

A mess hall, filled with people beginning to eat. I-we alter my-our perception slightly and the lattice-world of energy dims, the real world fading in over the top of it.

_:There.:_ I-we drift forwards until I-we are hanging above the table at one end of the hall, raised up on a low platform. All of the men and women sitting at it have uniforms beyond the cut and style of a basic Guard.

_:Larrin, there.:_ I-we focus my-our attention on the empty space before the ceramic plate piled with vegetables that is sitting in front of the man who must be the Outpost commander.

_:There, Larrin. Do it.:_ My-our focus sharpens, until the grain of the wood seems almost to float above the table, reaching out to tangle around me-us like smoke.

_:Do it. Do it now.:_

_:I can't. It's too far. I don't have enough strength—_:

The part of me-us that is older than generations, has run on four feet and on two, has spun in a circle in the centre of a node, shrieks and _pulls_ and Power fountains up all around me-us, swirls like rain drops in storm clouds.

_:Do it!:_

The plates and cups and cutlery rattle and bounce in time with my-our effort, and the men and women at the table jerk backwards, hands held high as the rest of the hall falls silent, attention captured by me-us.

A convulsion, a twist, a moment like a cold shiver and then the bark that was _here_ is now _there_, flapping as it touches the table, leaf litter clinging to its edges, and I-we fall back into—

I jerk and stagger a few steps as I break the link to Larrin. He is breathing unsteady gulps of air, and if he were cleaner, it would be possible to see the snow-white colour his skin has surely gone.

"I've never done that before."

_:Shields,:_ I order tiredly. _:Shields and then sustenance and then shelter and then sleep.:_

"That's a lot of esses." I stare a Larrin's slightly hysterical tone of voice.

_:No breakdowns. You've managed just fine this far, don't go and ruin things.:_

"Okay." Larrin blinks dazedly up at me. "Um."

_:Up_,: I order, nudging at his shoulder until he lurches to his feet. Sighing, I allow him to lean on my shoulder and begin to walk us in the direction of the fresh water that I can smell.

I probably owe Astera about a year's worth of adorations, because the water turns out to be an attractively burbling spring set in a grassy clearing that, if I wasn't about ready to fall over from exhaustion, I'd be immediately and completely suspicious about. I'd be suspicious about the water (cold), the grass that I begin tearing at (fragrant), and the conveniently-groaning-with-fruit apple tree that Larrin practically launches himself at (convenient and groaning) but, as it is, I ignore my ingrained cynicism for probably the first time in my life, and settle for eating and drinking until my stomach is about to pop and I feel the best that I have since this whole debacle started.

Larrin has found a large bed of springy moss to sprawl on, underneath the apple tree. I give him a considering look before falling down next to him and adopting a position that does nothing for my dignity, but goes a _long_ way to sorting out the itches on my withers and the knots in my back.

"We should—"

_:Sleep.:_

"No, no." Larrin struggles into a sitting position and stares at me. "We need to—"

_:Sleep,_: I repeat firmly. _:The state we are currently in, the most damage we'd do would be to ourselves. Alex and the others will be fine for one night. I _promise_ you.:_

"How can you know that?"

_:The bandits won't want to do away with their bargaining chips.:_ The brief rest I gave my cynicism has left it fighting fit and ready to drag down the world. _:They'll either figure that they can ransom Alex and the others for obscene amounts of money, or for safe passage if it turns out that the Guard is on their tails. That means that we spend tonight _sleeping._ No arguments.:_

Larrin sighs and leans back on his elbows, wincing slightly as he obviously jostles some bruises. "We're going to wait for the Guard then?"

_:I never said that.:_

"But...why did we Send them that message?" Larrin looks even more confused than he sounds, which is something of a feat.

_:Because lengthy clear-ups are not my thing, and somebody will need to bury the bodies.:_

"Um." Larrin gives me another one of those looks that indicates that he's not entirely sure that I won't chew off his arm and beat him to death with the soggy end. "But there's only two of us—you have a plan?"

I raise my head and look around at our suspiciously perfect clearing. _:I have some notions. Now, go to sleep.:_

The hint of pressure I put behind that last word is enough to make Larrin sink back onto the moss, eyes closed, before he can quiz me any further. This is good, because I really don't feel like explaining. With one more appraising look around, I decide to take my own advice and readily fall into sleep.

The first thing that I notice when I crawl back into consciousness the following morning is that I actually feel almost healthy. Which is deeply suspicious. I _should _feel like I've come out the far end of an epic trampling by bandits, closely followed by one of the stupider magic stunts I've ever pulled in my lives. Instead, all of my component parts still appeared to be attached (in the correct order) and none of them seem to want to stab me with pain.

Hmm.

I crack open my eyes and take in my surroundings. Suspiciously perfect clearing with the suspiciously perfect food and water, and—I stretch a leg experimentally—a suspiciously perfect microclimate which has meant that my muscles have stiffened up hardly at all.

_Hmm._

I roll over onto my front and stand up. There's a certain amount of creakiness, despite the suspiciously perfect microclimate, because one of the great trials of my life is the way that I keeping on getting older. Despite that, though—and the crazy amount of dirt all over me—I'm remarkably healthy.

Larrin, who is sprawled half on his front, making noises like someone sawing through a log, looks—and probably feels—similar.

He also doesn't look as if he's quite ready to wake up yet.

I should prod him awake, but instead I take the chance to slake my thirst and scoff down as much in the way of grass and apples as I can comfortably fit in. It's not that I'm worried that I'm going to have to fight him for food; he doesn't look like the type to enjoy munching away on grass, and he's _certainly_ not old enough to have been in the position of having to pick between foliage and starvation (if you ever have call to question Alex about that particular subject, do so from a distance. Preferably a distance that involves something solid between you and my Chosen, and let me know in advance so that I can retire to a safe location. Like Rethwellan), but if I eat _now_, then I'll be free when he _is_.

Eating, that is.

I sigh to myself and swallow a last mouthful of apple. I'm not even making sense to _myself_ anymore. Alexander is going to come out the far end of this rescue having been planted head-first into a boulder by his own Companion, and won't _that_ be fun to explain back in Haven?

_:Larrin.:_

The subject of my mental prod adds a gurgling snort onto the end of his snoring, but doesn't otherwise respond.

_:Larrin.:_

Gurgling, and now bubbling_._

_:Larrin, wake up.:_

Gurgling, bubbling and _whistling._

Kernos wept; it's like being trapped in a Waystation with Samyel all over again. Rather than prod away at the happy memories of mine and Alex's Intern Circuit, I settle for actually prodding Larrin. With a hoof. On his backside.

Thankfully, experience with Sam has also inured me to the actual waking up part of forcing an inveterate snorer from sleep to consciousness, so I'm less than surprised when Larrin coughs, yelps and flails himself into something akin to being awake. He rolls over to lie on his back and I give him an unimpressed look.

"Ugh."

_:My sentiments exactly. Time to get up.:_

Larrin sits up slowly, scratching at his head and looking around. "This, um, place looks strange."

_:Don't think about it,_: I advise. _:It's nothing...malignant. And stop scratching your camouflage off.:_

"The way you just said 'malignant' wasn't reassuring." Larrin yawns and stretches. Apparently, when he's not in shock he's somewhat less of a wet week in the Karsite hills.

_:I never claimed to be reassuring. Eat and drink something. We'll be setting off soon.:_ I watch him watch me as he reaches up to pluck an apple from a low-hanging branch and take a thoughtful bite from it. _:What?_:

"Aren't you eating?"

_:I've already eaten. I need you to stay here and wait for me, okay?_:

His expression clouds and he starts to lever himself up. "Hey, I thought you said that we needed my Gift for this rescue? I'm not just going to sit around all safe and sound while Kirin's in danger!"

_:Oh, for the—_: I use my nose to shove him back into a sitting position before taking a few steps back. _:Even I—despite whatever evidence there may be in my past—am not stupid enough to charge off to take on a whole group of bandits on my own. I just need to...deal...with something.:_ I return his stare with added interest. _:I'm hoping to rustle up some added allies.:_

"Who?" Larrin finishes his first apple in two bites and plucks a second one before he's even finished swallowing. He's also giving me a suspicious look and is now beginning to remind me of Alexander. I think I liked him better when he was in shock and unthinkingly obeying my every whim.

_:You're better off not knowing.:_ I try to fill that sentence with the maximum amount of portent and mystery, but probably fall quite far short. _:Look, I'm not even sure if they'll answer me. In fact, I'm fairly sure that they _won't_ if I've got you hanging off my tail, so could you please just stay here and eat apples for a mark or so?_:

Larrin sighs and chews his way through apple number two. "I guess."

_:Don't strain yourself or anything.:_

Larrin grunts and starts in on another apple. Apparently 'less like a wet week in Karse' means 'taciturn adolescent', and I've already had to deal with _that_ particular scenario once in my life. I shake my head and pick my way out of the clearing. I'm not heading towards any particular destination, but I am heading in a sort of northerly direction, into woodland which is getting progressively wilder and wilder.

After about a quarter candlemark I reach a giant fallen tree, the trunk festooned with moss and ferns. This seems like as good a place as any for the stupidity that I'm about to indulge in. The clearing has given me some vague hope that I'm not about to make a complete fool out of myself, but if I do, then at least only I and whatever small scuttling creatures are in the area will know about it.

_:Hello.:_

I was right, I feel like an idiot.

_:You've obviously already noticed us, what with the shelter for the night and everything—which, thank you for, by the way—and I'm guessing you maybe know why we're here. But, in case you didn't; there's bandits. A lot of them, not very far away from here. They've been preying on the isolated farmsteads on the southern edges of the forest for the past month or so, and I think that they're probably working themselves up to _   
_an actual village or town raid. Not that it's only the prospect of them attacking a population centre that makes them dangerous, because it doesn't. They've always been dangerous.: _

I glance around. The forest seems unnaturally silent. _:What you might not know is that they have a blood-path shaman with them, and _he _has control over a pack of change-wolves. That makes them more than a bit dangerous, and is why my Chosen, another Herald, and two Companions are currently prisoners.:_

Big, silent, scary forest is big, silent and scary. Also, outside of that clearing, cold. I sigh.

_:I'm not going to deny that a big part of my motives for charging on in __there are because Alexander needs rescuing, because that would be lying, and also really, really dumb. And since I'm going down the truthful route: I don't think the bandits are going to keep them alive much past today, regardless of what I've been telling Larrin. We've all seen combat; we all know the odds of captive Heralds _anywhere_. So I'm really kind of invested in getting Alex and the others out of there pretty much alive and in as much of one piece as is possible.:_

It's possible that the immediate area around me contains a general increase in both the qualities of 'interest' and 'attention'. I fix a particularly impressive fern frond with a determined look.

_:Which is where you three come in. I'm not asking for divine manifestations amid claps of lightning and __thundering choral praise, because for one thing, that'd look really, _really_ stupid, and for another you'd probably concuss both Larrin and myself, and I did actually pay enough attention in Alex's Tactics classes—and the _gods_ know I spent enough time being shot at down on the Karsite border—to know about the concept of friendly fire and why it _isn't_. What I'm asking for is...help. Something to make this rescue slightly less laughable. Something to help stop the bandits before they get past the Guard and into the interior of Valdemar.: _I risk a glance around. _:Something to prevent a blood-path mage from getting a toehold amongst our ley.:_

The feeling of something very large and very powerful crawls around me, and I can feel every single one of my hairs trying to standing on end. I am nothing if not a stubborn horse, however. _:Can you help us?_:

The energy in the forest around me ripples and I'm left with the unsettling feeling of being _talked about_, without actually having any idea of what's being said. On the scale of nerve-wracking, this is somewhat above most of my run-ins with the Groveborn, but definitely below most of the times that hideous great big hairy things with teeth have chased me around the countryside. Part of me wants to demand to know what's going on, but a smaller, saner, part of me points out that being rude probably won't help my case any.

Just as I've given up hope of actually getting a reply—and after I've started to convince myself that I was imagining the whole feeling of presence thing _anyway_—from out of absolutely nowhere sensible, a large white flower floats down through the air to land in front of me. I stare at it for a long moment.

_:Is that a yes or a no? No offence or anything, but you're a bit rubbish when it comes to the issue of clarity.:_

Before I have time to extract my hooves from my overly large mouth, the forest feels distinctly amused. This is borne out by a second flower landing on my head and sliding down my nose to land next to the first. Just to make sure, I squint up at the canopy—absolutely nothing white or flowerlike up there—before shaking my head.

_:Right, um, I guess we'll see you there, then?_:

I sidestep the third flower from above a flag my tail triumphantly. I am absolutely the _best_ me that has ever existed, and now all I need to do is pick up Larrin and continue to be the best me that has ever existed.

Hopefully the best me that has ever existed is going to finish today still in the possession of a Chosen.

I must have been wandering for longer than I thought, because the distance back to the clearing seems a lot longer than I remember. Despite what Alex will believe when I tell him about this later, I do _not_ get lost. For one thing, I don't think the forest would currently let me get lost if I tried, and for a second thing, Larrin's rather... fragrant. Fragrant in a way that's pretty much like sticking a great big sign over the clearing, reading 'Inadvisably and inadequately planned rescue being arranged here!' and giving everyone a detailed map.

I'm hoping that the bandits smell so hideous themselves that they won't notice a couple of extra stinks sneaking up on them. I'm not thinking about the change-wolves.

_:Larrin!_: I rattle into the clearing at a trot and dance in an impatient circle as he squeaks and drops an apple core. _:Come on, time's a wasting—wait. You haven't _actually_ spent this whole time eating, have you?_:

"No," Larrin mutters, flushing.

_:Hmm.: _ I give him a disbelieving look. _:Well, get on. We have people to go and save.:_

"I thought you said you were going after allies?" Larrin gets to his feet and hauls himself up onto my back. "You have a white flower stuck in your mane."

_:Really?_: I crane my head around, trying unsuccessfully to see.

"You want me to take it out?"

_:No...leave it where it is.:_

"If you're sure." Larrin sounds dubious. "Where are your allies?"

_:You'll see.:_ I pointedly refuse to answer any further questions about the nature and location of my allies and concentrate on getting us back to the bandit camp without announcing our presence to the entire world and his wife.

If anything the camp smells worse than it did yesterday. I deposit Larrin on the downwind side of the camp nearest the hobbled Companions and give him strict instructions not to do _anything_ until I give the signal. Thankfully, his recent development of a backbone does not include the kind of protracted disagreement that Alex and I are somewhat famed for.

My own position is roughly opposite Larrin but at enough of an angle that I'm as close to the shaman's tent and the now decidedly unwell looking Heralds bound in front of it. Once again I have to ruthlessly force my emotions down and out of the way: they will absolutely not do me any good if all they want to do is make me sit on my tail and wail.

_:Larrin.:_ I reach out with the tiniest whisper of Mindspeech that I can. I don't _think_ that anyone in the bandit camp is Gifted—or for that matter, _sober_—enough to eavesdrop, but this is not the time to be taking reckless chances; which is why I've already taken the precaution of forbidding Larrin from actually replying to me. _:Start Fetching out their weapons.:_

I narrow my eyes and concentrate on the camp and even then, it takes me a good while to actually see the disappearance of one of the weapons that Larrin is filching. Luck (and possibly some other things) are on our side because most of the bandits are still dead to the world, and the few that are actually awake are lazing disconsolately around pathetic camp fires, expressions of alcohol-induced suffering on their faces. It's entirely possible that they wouldn't even notice if Larrin Fetched the fire from right in front of them.

The next half candlemark seems to _crawl_ by. My nerves are winding up tighter and tighter with each arrow and dagger that Larrin successfully Fetches, and I've been concentrating most of my staring attention on the knot of sleeping change-wolves on the near-side of the shaman's tent because if I stare at Alex, parts of me will probably start popping from anger.

We worked out our plan on the way here—by which I mean that I told Larrin exactly what he was going to do, no arguments—and now it's time for the actual rescue part, which means that I get to play big white target. In all my years of being chased by big hairy things with teeth, this is the first time that I'm going to have actually _volunteered_.

Slowly and carefully I stretch out each of my legs and tense and release as many of my muscles as I can. Well, no time like the present. _:On the count of three, Larrin. Just like I told you.:_

I sidle my way up to the edge of the clearing, stopping just shy of stepping into the open. One of the bandits stumbling between his sleeping fellows suddenly sprouts an arrow in his chest, and the bandit that is gaping at this unexpected occurrence topples forwards as a dirk is buried in his back. Larrin is quite a good shot with his Fetching.

As the first ripples of alarm begin to spread through the camp—spreading out from the places where people are suddenly gaining sharp objects in assorted bits of their anatomy—I throw my head back, release the loudest battle-scream I can muster, and plunge into a full gallop.

The uproar and chaos is almost immediate and I put both hooves and teeth to good use as I determinedly bull my way towards the captured Heralds. In between lashing out sideways with a back foot and breaking a man's arm with a side-swipe of my head, I notice Larrin scuttling towards the Companions, who are tossing their heads and looking alarmed. Then I don't really have much attention for anything else, because the change-wolves have roused and managed to get themselves together enough to attack me.

This is absolutely the worst plan I have ever come up with in my _life._

I wheel desperately, dancing out of the reach of the snapping jaws of the two creatures in front of my, mindful of the others that are trying to circle around to jump on my back _and_ mindful of what seems like fully three-quarters of all the bandits in the _entire country_ who are trying to either stab or shoot me. Thankfully, while the numbers are really against me, what this means in practice at the moment is that most of the bandits are more concerned with not hitting each other, or becoming breakfast for the change-wolves themselves. Since _I_ don't particularly want to become breakfast either, I think it's time for reinforcements.

_:If you're out there, I'd really, _really _like some help!_:

I see an opening between a bandit and the change-wolf he's just accidentally bashed with his bow and plunge recklessly through it. The change-wolf leaves off attacking the man and leaps for me. It crashes into my side with a rush of heat and fetid air and I feel its claws scrabble and tear at my skin.

_:Really, help!_:

I buck and twist, throwing it off before it can get its teeth into anything more significant than my mane and then I'm mostly clear of the foul creature. Something looms up on my left side and I snort and wheel, aware that I've had it if it's a second creature. A Companion stallion—Kurk—skids to a halt in front of me and snorts loudly, before spinning to deliver an expertly bone-snapping kick to the grubby little man trying to sneak up on us. A second, smaller Companion jounces up behind the first. I can't Hear either of them—proof that whatever devilry the shaman's worked is still effective—but the brief look we share is all the communication we need.

I take the lead, ignoring the burning sensation where significant bits of my mane are now missing, and the fact that my whole left side feels like someone's dipped it in hot lead, and the three of us start forwards towards the Heralds, a many-hoofed mass of unspeakable anger and viciousness.

With unexpected suddenness we're at the tents and I have to manage a clumsy vault over the sprawled figures of Alexander and the other Herald—Rali? Rani?—to avoid trampling them into the ground. I jar both of my front legs as I land, sharp pains shooting up and down them, but that's preferable to the alternative. The other Companions take up flanking positions around the Heralds and I try to steady my balance before I fall into the side of the shaman's tent.

The not falling into the tent, I manage. What I don't manage, however, is not falling into the shaman himself, who comes bursting out the front of the tent, gibbering something in his heathen lingo and waving a feather-and-stone bedecked staff around wildly. The staff catches me a solid crack across my face and I go almost cross-eyed at the flare of pain in my nose. Despite that—or perhaps because of it—I let loose with a fearsome squeal and plunge forwards, flailing with both front hooves. One catches the shaman in the shin, the second in the stomach and he doubles over, falling backwards. I continue my suicidal charge forwards, fully expecting to receive a change-creature to the throat at any moment.

What I get is an unstable rock slipping beneath my hind feet, throwing my balance off.

Any spell that the shaman may or may not have been casting is abruptly stopped when I sort of kill him by landing on him. _Something_ explodes with a not-audible _bang_ and suddenly my head is filled with shouting Heralds and Companions as I roll sideways into the shaman's tent, which collapses half on top of me.

_:Little sister,_: the male Mindvoice cuts effortlessly through the conflicting din in my head. _:You should get yourselves to higher ground, our help is about to arrive.:_

I'm not entirely sure how, but I manage to lever myself to my feet in time to nearly be knocked over by Alexander flinging himself at my neck. I can't understand a _word_ that he's saying, mainly because I'm starting to feel like the whole world is smacking me repeatedly in the face. Fuzzily, I note that he is trailing chewed bits of ropes from his wrists and ankles.

_:Teva?_: The stallion throws a glance at me. _:Who was that voice?_:

Voice?

_Voice!_

_:Get up__hill!_: I shout. _:Now! Larrin, get your tail heading uphill as fast as you can manage!_:

Kirin's eyes widen and she wheels about on her heels to plunge towards Larrin, who appears to have wedged himself up a tree to better aim his Gift.

_:Come on, move!_: I begin to shove Alex with my nose, ignoring the starbursts of pain the action adds to the wide-ranging orchestra of complaints that my body is playing for me.

A terrible shrieking starts behind us and we all whirl, Kirin pausing in the acts of heading back towards us, Larrin clinging to her back like a burr, to stare in horrified amazement as the very trees and bushes of the forest come to life. Branches and roots lash around, both dragging men and the remaining change-wolves down, to be pulled screaming into the earth, or hoisting them into the air, strangling and stabbing them.

_:Move!_: I yell as loudly as I can, and make good on my instruction by seizing Alex by what remains of the back of his tunic and forcibly hauling us away from the dreadful carnage. Kurk follows my lead and all but flings his Herald in the direction of his back before scrambling uphill as fast as he can, and Kirin abandons all pretence at making it back to us and shoots off at a speed that I can only envy at.

Envy and wheeze at, and try not to fall over unconscious.

I don't even _realise_ that there's an ominous rumbling underlying the unholy cacophony behind us until I—very much behind up the rear—stumble past the fitfully trickling remnants of what was, at the beginning of this idiot's mission, a not insubstantial waterfall.

_:Wasn't there a river there?_: I ask Alex somewhat inanely.

Which is, of course, that the part of the 'help' I was actually _warned_ about arrives.

Water—really a _lot_ of water—blasts over the edge of the cliff and thunders into the remnants of the bandits. Most of them don't even have time to realise that the churning mass of water and boulders is _there_ before it's on them. I stop and stare dumbly, aware vaguely that the spray from the violently out-of-control river is soaking me through.

_:Um.:_

Kurk and Kirin approach me slowly and stop a short distance away. Their Chosen slide unsteadily from their backs and all four of them fix me with looks that are definitely sidling up on horrified awe.

I absently let go of Alex's tunic, allowing him to stumble a few steps away from the torrent rampaging a few feet from my hooves.

_:Um.:_

_:What did you _do_?_: Kirin asks in a slightly hysterical tone.

_:Um.:_ My legs abruptly give out and I lay down _hard_. Alex yelps and scrambles to my side.

"Don't die!" he whispers fiercely, hands jerking uselessly as he tries to pick somewhere on my face or neck to hug that isn't injured in some way before finally giving up and flinging his arms around me. "Don't you _dare._"

_:I'm not going to die!_: I manage indignantly. _:I plan on sticking around to be insufferable and smug and admired by all for pulling off this daring rescue!_:

The flow of water is lessening off rapidly and, within very short order, the river is once again flowing lazily, albeit on a slightly different course owing to the fact that the 'help' has significantly rearranged some of the local geography. The rather large pond, for example, is new.

There's not even an _arrow_ left to show that there were ever bandits here.

_:Teva?_: Kurk asks uncertainly. _:Was that...?_:

_:Oh!_: I start, and then grunt out a swear word as my whole body objects to the sudden movement. _:Um. Thank you, I, um. Thank you. Really a lot.:_

I suspect that the _:Our pleasure, little sister.:_ is only audible to those of us with fur.

Alex pulls back enough to look at both of my eyes.

"Do you have a concussion?" he asks worriedly. "You're not making any sense."

_:I'm fine,_: I lie, aware in the background of Kurk informing a slightly hysterical Kirin that, yes, I _did_, and _yes_, that really _was_.

"No, you're not." Alex disagrees. "None of us are. And you should be feeling worse than the rest of us because you just nearly got eaten."

_:Nearly is not that same as actually.:_ I cling to the well-worn fact of bickering with my Chosen to stave off the need I feel to plant my head underground and ignore the rest of the world forever.

"Teva!"

"Um." Larrin shifts from foot to foot as we turn our collective attention on him. "We alerted the guard before we came. Teva said that they were sending mounted troops ahead so they should be here by nightfall."

_:How did you do that?_: I Hear Kirin demand. I also Hear Larrin's clumsy reply. The way that Kirin's eyes almost bulge out of her head would be comical if I didn't suspect that laughing would make the hot lead comprising my left side raise the temperature from _ow, ow, ow, OW_ to _oh, gods, someone shoot me in the head_.

"Rani?" Alex queries, looking confused.

The slightly younger Herald sighs and scrubs at her face with one hand. "Kurk says Larrin's Gift of Mindspeech has been triggered. It's part of how he and your Teva managed to pull this insanity off. I don't want to speculate about the rest."

I snort—mentally, because my ribs aren't going to forgive anything at the moment—and try to paste a knowing expression on my face as I Broadsend. _:This _is_ Sorrows. I'm sure you can infer from that fact.:_

Rani shakes her head and slowly eases herself to the ground. "I'd heard the stories, but I never really believed them."

_:About Sorrows?_: I ask.

"No, about _you_."

Kurk snorts something that may very well be a laugh. I elect to ignore him.

Kirin and Larrin both fold themselves to the ground and, after a moment Kurk follows suit and Alex arranges himself against my side.

"So, we just have to wait for the Guard to show up?" he asks wearily.

"Uh huh." Larrin wilts against his Companion's side.

"We should post a sentry." The words sound as if Rani is dragging them unwillingly into the open.

Kurk gives me a long look and then stares thoughtfully around at the trees. _:I do not believe that will be necessary, Chosen.:_

"Oh. So we just wait, then."

_:If you want,_: I say tiredly, _:you can all adore me to help the time pass.:_

I would be horribly insulted by the dramatic groans that my suggestion produce, except that the loudest groaner is my Alexander, and he loses the groan into the tattered remains of my mane, so I don't really mind anything at all.

I am, after all, the best me that there ever was.


End file.
